Thread: The Cloudlands: Chapter 1(some)

This is only part of what I've written so far but I would love some constructive criticism before I proceed too much farther, any advice would be great, thanks!

Nathan awoke in the strange land he and millions of others called home. He lived in the western frontier of the Cloudlands, near the Cliffs of Whitefalls; his house lay in a deep valley on a rock outcropping that rose it above the waters that so often covered the ground in the area. It was a large, slightly tilted slab, it looked like what the Oldlanders called marble; but the rocks found in this new land were strange in color and cleavage, yet they were strangest most of all in their origins. From the outcropping the small cabin stood upon could be seen the Razor’s Edge Mountains, whose peaks were sharp as a razor, and so named, and many leagues long. The mountains formed a ring around the deep valley, their arms and roots emerged throughout the valley walls in several places; only one pass could be assuredly crossed safely and it was on the edge of the bowl shaped area in which they lived, other passes supposedly ran throughout the sides of the mountain range, but they had been abandoned long ago, some said they were dug by the first Oldlanders to arrive on the Cloudlands. Even that pass that was considered so safe once, was now deadly, it led into the Forest of the Lurker; any who entered fell prey to the beast, or man, or whatever such creature it was, that hid within the shadowy boughs of the trees. Nathan dearly longed to explore the lost mountain passes, he fantasized about find a vein of Pathracite, the metal that all of the strongest and most powerful tools were made of, however the last major vein had been emptied decades ago and many of the tools and armors lost through the ages. Of course his parents would never approve of him exploring such dangerous and unknown territories, which is why he had been preparing for many weeks in secret for his disembarkation.
Now was the time for him to leave, he had packed as much food as he could spirit away from the cupboard; several lengths of strong woven rope, which his father had once used when traveling through the formerly safe mountain pass; a pair of fine binoculars, they were his mother's, she used them to see the wildlife from afar, she fancied herself an explorer and had many beautiful sketchbooks full of plants and animals she had seen in her travels over the years; not entirely coincidentally he had taken those as well, it would do him well to have these as they would direct him to a wholesome food source when his current stores ran low; he took the one Pathracite tool his family owned, a hammer, one side with a notched spike rising from the head, the other flat and perfectly smooth, it would suit him as a pickaxe and serve him for fashioning other things out of Pathracite when he found some. He turned over the sturdy and remarkably light tool, it was worth a fortune, and he took little comfort in the fact that his parents rarely used it; they would notice it was gone and it would lower their spirits considerably. He snuck out to the tool shed with his already engorged pack strapped to his back; when there he took two lengths of wood, one an intricately carved walking stick that had been his great-grandfather's, that is, it was when he long ago wandered the wilderness of the Cloudlands; the second a gnarled branch that would make an excellent torch when he entered the caves of the jagged Razor’s Edge mountains. He slowly padded through the shed in his light shoes, looking for fuel and cloth, a torch without these, he murmured to himself, was of no use, well, he amended, it would be for a few minutes. He took his father's good kindling set and packed it away safely, a night without a fire would be one without pleasure and with the constant threat of unseen foes lurking just beyond his sight in the tall grass.
He had to take one last thing, and say goodbye, then he would leave; he stole into his own room and took the sword with the crooked blade and fitting scabbard. The sword had been given to him on his thirteenth birthday it had been forged by his father, out of Starry Bronze; it shown like the bronze of the Oldlanders in sunlight, however it shown yet brighter under the starry skies; under the stars it shown as if small jewels had been set into the blade. When he first received it he had sliced his leg open within two hours, the shape of the blade, designed to circumvent armor by slicing through its bindings or stabbing into the few weak spots that remained, had betrayed him, he had let the blade fall a few inches too far and it had cut into his calf, leaving a two inch long gash. His mother had tended to it quickly and within days it had healed. He hung the intricately carved Strawood scabbard about his shoulders, only Strawood could safely hold a blade of such a keen edge, and his father had spent much of his own money to acquire it, as all Strawood trees were in one forest, in the frontiers of the east Cloudlands. He felt the wooden crenellations and started from his room, reminding himself to take the box of healing herbs his mother kept in the kitchen, he stepped silently to his parents' door, and, careful to avoid the doorknob squeaking, opened the ancient wooden slab and bade farewell to his parents. How long he stood there, he did not know, he knew only that when he tore his eyes from his gently snoring parents, the sun seemed to be rising in the deep blue sky, though it had been well below the horizon shortly before. He said a final farewell, hoping they would not be overly cross with him, and that they would welcome him back when returned, though that would likely be long from when he now left. He stole down to the kitchen, took the small white wooden box emblazoned with a scarlet cross, his mother said it was a symbol from an Oldlanders' organization that cared for the sick. He slipped it into his pack and walked out the front door. He wouldn't see the small cabin on the rock outcropping for longer than he could imagine.

I like the idea you have here - I really enjoy novels that have a travel/adventure/quest component to them where we see the main character/s on a long journey

Now to the 'constructive criticism'

• You have some really interesting and inventive names and terms - Cloudlands, Oldlanders, Pathracite (love this one). However your main character's name is Nathan?? It seems a little too 'normal' and takes away from the 'other-worldliness' feel of your story.
• You need to have clear breaks between your paragraphs. I have made the same mistake with a piece I posted here too. Having a space between your paragraphs makes the piece much easier to read.
• You may want to consider re-working your opening scene. The first few pages of a novel need to grab the reader. This scene has a lot of setting description and backstory that might be more interesting to readers a little later in the story, when they have started to connect with the characters and got into the story. If you rework your scene to focus purely on Nathan trying to sneak away it might grab readers more - perhaps he is nearly caught, or perhaps he is chased by a pack of wild dogs and considers momentarily whether he should turn back. This is just an idea but I think that staring with a little action and focusing more on the character, allows readers to connect with the story more. All the setting stuff and background story can be added a little later.
• Your writing style is quite good, but could do with a little polishing - for example -

He had to take one last thing, and say goodbye, then he would leave; he stole into his own room and took the sword with the crooked blade and fitting scabbard.

I think this would work better as two sentences rather than one lengthy one punctuated with a semicolon. You seem to favour lengthy sentences which is fine, but breaking them up with short sentences will help the flow of your story.

he stole into his own room no need to say "own" the reader will know it is his room, avoid being too wordy, if a word is unnecessary, delete it.

and fitting scabbard is 'fitting' really necessary here?

The sword had been given to him on his thirteenth birthday it had been forged by his father, out of Starry Bronze; it shown like the bronze of the Oldlanders in sunlight, however it shown yet brighter under the starry skies; under the stars it shown as if small jewels had been set into the blade.

I think you meant shone rather than shown. Avoid repeating the same word or phrase in a sentence, even in a paragraph - repetitive writing gets boring. Also this is another very lengthy sentence. I like the simile you used - it shown as if small jewels had been set into the blade this puts a nice image in the reader's head.

So you might consider reworking these two sentences like -

He had to take one last thing, and say goodbye, then he would leave. He stole into his room and took the sword with the crooked blade and scabbard. The sword had been given to him on his thirteenth birthday, it had been forged by his father, out of Starry Bronze. It shone like the bronze of the Oldlanders in sunlight, but was yet brighter under a night sky; under the stars it glimmered as if small jewels had been set into the blade.

Thanks for sharing this, I enjoyed it

I used the name Nathaniel because the Cloudlands are derived from our current civilization, and the name is later revealed to be archaic, also thank you for the revising help with that section, I knew something was off but just couldn't place it. As for the paragraph breaks, I'm working on them but it's more difficult then I imagined. As for the adventure aspect, it expands into a much larger world, in fact the next section, which I have written, hints at the vastness of the land.

Alright I've finished editing a bit more:
He set forth hoping to return with Pathracite and other things of value that had been lost when the Oldlanders left the caves, he intended to return within a month's time and make his family rich enough that they could buy a home in the great cities of the north, perhaps in the icy Blizthön or the rainy Acquaesta. Perhaps if he did well enough they could purchase a sunny villa in the southern beaches near the city of Solenar, he had always wanted to visit the Beach of the Glass Reefs, where supposedly thousands of beautiful reefs held fish of such vibrant colors that only the reefs themselves eclipsed them. The fish were of ruby reds, emerald greens, and sapphire blues, and they swam as if they were indeed jewels and the reefs veins of an undiscovered metal. He stepped off the outcropping as he pondered the woes of real estate and began trudging towards the Whitefalls; he wanted to see them before he set out for the mountains, as his parents had never let him within sight of it. At the Whitefalls all of the rain that flowed down the mountains into the valley poured in a majestic torrent that sent up rainbows in the spray of water. The Whitefalls also marked one of the ends of the Cloudlands, if one got close enough to the edge they could see the Darkclouds that lay below.
The Whitefalls were three days marching from his house though, and he had delayed too long at his home he redoubled his pace and began the first leg of his journey.
He walked through the tall grasses for many miles, seeing strange animals, animals that had evolved from the ones the Oldlanders had brought with them. A beast with a long flexible neck that ran at speeds that exceeded the horses that had not been allowed to change like every other wild animal that had run free after the days of the First Falling. He thought the long-necked creatures were called “girahfs,” but he wasn't sure. He wandered onwards for many leagues, looking at the serene and untouched savannah that had grown here, it seemed endless to him, endless and never changing. He hadn't eaten his breakfast and so took out a small cloth wrapped cake, it was called stranj and was very filling, and would never go stale; he took several bites of the loaf and delicately rewrapped it in the cloth. He paused as he was stowing the cake in his pack, he could have sworn he heard movement in the grasses near where he sat, under a large tree in a rare clearing in the endless grasslands. He stowed it quickly and drew out his sword, the bronze gleaming in the morning sun; he listened and heard rustling slowly moving to his left, circling to attack him from the rear. He turned to follow the unseen threat until a golden haired paw stuck slightly out from the grasses, it slowly came into sight. It had a broad silvery mane about its threatening catlike head; it bared its teeth, they were long and sharp, all hope of it being a curious herbivore vanished instantly. He struck out at its side, which glimmered like molten gold, it sliced into its flesh, the creature jumped back, wary that what it had supposed to be easy prey had a sting. Nathan relaxed as he heard it bound off into the distance; he examined his blade and found it stained with blood as azure as the night sky.
“It really is a regal creature,” mused Nathan, “I only wish it had been of a friendly sort, it looks rather like those 'lyans' my parents have told me about.”
He wiped his blade against the tree and shed his hood, it had become warm, and he had no need of it. He then donned his pack and started anew, hoping that he should, at the least, complete a sizable portion of his journey before nightfall, he would need to find shelter before the sun sank from the sky. No one knew what lurked in these lands after dark.
He wandered onwards, covering several miles an hour, or so he thought, in the never changing terrain he wandered it was impossible to tell how far he had gone. Landmarks were rarer than he imagined, trees could only be spotted near watering holes, and he dared not wander too close to them as he had become very cautious after his encounter with the giant cat. As he wandered he had looked through the book of animals he had stolen from his mother and found the creature he had fought. It was apparently descended from a creature the Oldlanders had brought called a “lion” apparently it usually traveled in packs; with this he was both nervous and glad. He was not sure he could have withstood a fight with a pack of those creatures at this point. The creatures apparently rarely left their families during daytime, unless their territory was severely threatened; the tree he had eaten under was likely part of that “lion's” territory. He made a mental note to be on watch whenever he stopped to sleep, he could very well come to a stop in the territory of another, far greater beast; it was said that many armored beasts laid claim to land there.
He stopped finally at a small clearing near the splintered remains off a great tree, charred as if it had been struck by lightning in some long ago storm. He took tinder and logs from the wreckage of the great tree and took out the small round box of flint and fire starters and tried his luck at lighting a small campfire; the first time he produced only sparks; the second some of the smallest tinder caught alight, he blew rapidly on them to bring it fully to a blaze, he breathed too hard on them and they smoldered into mere smoke; on his third try however he managed to bring the fire to a full blaze. He took the set of fire starters and safely stowed them back in his pack; he took out a small amount of uncooked sausage, he had eaten nothing but bites of stranj when hunger growled in his stomach, and he needed something more filling. He took a small straight stick from the tree and skewered the sausage onto it, he placed it over the fire carefully; he knew he ought to have boiled it in his small pot, which would keep the juices from being wasted, he was too hungry however to put that much effort into it. He reconsidered, thinking of the small amount of food he carried, and how much of it he really wanted to waste. He fished the small pot from his pack and filled it halfway with water from the large pouch he carried on his hip; he would need to find a stream in a few days’ time if he wished to refill it, or, he mused, he could fill it at Whitefalls. He took the sausage and cut it into small rounds with his sword, he dropped them into the pot individually and gathered three large logs; he set the logs into a tripod of sorts and put the pot in the small hollow between the three. He lay back against the tree and waited, he saw the water begin to boil and blew on it occasionally to keep the foam down; several minutes later he gingerly removed the pot with the thick hide gloves he had stolen from his father. He sat it beside him to cool before he ate, it seemed that the dissolved fat from the meat had changed the water into a soup of sorts; he kept in mind that boiling meats would make something to drink as well as eat.
As he sat, he pondered what his parents would be doing, they would probably have ran searching for him in the morning when they first discovered his absence; only to retire to the house in the late afternoon for a meal, where they would then discover, if they hadn't already, that he had taken food enough for a long journey. Hopefully they had found the note he had left them; in it he told them not to worry, he was adventuring the caves of the Jagged Mountains to find Pathracite to increase their family's fortune. He said also that he packed everything he needed and was prepared for a journey of longer than a month, although, he now considered, saying he was to be gone so long wouldn't help their nerves. He awoke from this consideration to discover that his stew had cooled sufficiently enough to be eaten, he took the pot and a removed a spoon from his pack and began to eat, after eating through half of the pot he looked up. The sight literally took his breath away, the sun was setting over the Jagged Mountains and the darkening sky was streaked with crimsons, violets, golds, and pinks; the sky was cloudless, so nothing took away from the ethereal beauty that was before him. He hoped he would remember this sight for the rest of his life; it was truly the most fantastic thing he had ever seen. He noticed he had stood up involuntarily and was beginning to spill water from the pot; he corrected himself instantaneously and sat back down, his eyes locked as the golds and pinks, and crimsons turned to deeper shades of azure, lapis, and rouge as the sun sank below the mighty mountains. He watched as the day ended and sank into a beautiful, serene night, he began to eat again only after the sun had fully set below the peaks, noticing that it had cooled into an almost chilled broth.



The submission system is messing with my paragraph breaks

There is a clear difference between the original and the edited version... nice ^^

Comments!

Taking your statement about the submission system into account, I'm trying to envision where the paragraph breaks are (I'm guessing its the proceeding paragraphs with the indent like spaces)? In any case, I think, to me, the paragraphs are a little long. Is there anyway you could cut down on it's size, but keep as much of the description and action as possible?

For example,

He paused as he was stowing the cake in his pack, he could have sworn he heard movement in the grasses near where he sat, under a large tree in a rare clearing in the endless grasslands. He stowed it quickly and drew out his sword,

I think we can reword this sentence to make it more concise but convey the same information ^^!

He paused as the sound of rustling grass gripped his attention. He wrapped the cake and drew his sword as his eyes scanned the endless surrounding grassland.

Food for thought ^^! I'm eagerly awaiting any further chapters!

Hmmm, reviewing that sentence I agree that I should fix it, and yeah, in my word processor I have paragraph breaks, but the copy function in the submission gets rid of them. I have got a little more done, but it needs the most review, let me post it.

He ate and drank his fill, then covered the small pot with a cloth, to save the remaining stew for a morning meal, he stowed it up in the wreckage of the tree and lied down. He put his head against a small bundle of clothes he used for a pillow and nearly immediately a deep, dreamless sleep came upon him; how long he slept he did not know, and it is doubtful he would have been able to tell. He slept soundly though, and made little noise, he was disturbed however, by a noise of snuffling near his face, and he awoke with a start. Standing in front of him was a creature that very much resembled a dog he had had as a child, but was not the same; it did not fully resemble the wolves he was accustomed to seeing near the small cabin either, the wolves were taller and more gaunt, this creature seemed battered yet small and harmless. He made a small move towards it and it sank, teeth bared, growling; suddenly Nathan became aware that the one dog creature was not on its own, out of the grasses came dogs whose breeds he knew from old books, huskies with their proud faces, retrievers with their slick coats, hounds with their long keen noses, greyhounds and whippets with their lean bodies, chows with their black tongues, dachshunds with their tubular bodies. One however, stood far above the rest, a great shepherd, with matted and scarred fur, with a leg that had clearly been previously injured, and with a foggy glassy globe staring, unseeing, at him; it was without a doubt the leader of the pack, and it was approaching him, slowly, with a look of great and terrible malice in its eyes. He knew at once that he was prey, and he sprung for his sword, which lay only feet away, a hound lunged and bit his left arm, all sense of sadness about the state of the dogs vanished instantaneously; he swung his arm and the dog flew off and collided with the tree, it did not get back up. He brandished his sword, now gleaming in the deep moonlight, at the now wary and cautious dogs, though he could feel a terrible hatred brewing within them, almost as if they were of a single mind. He backed up against the tree, shifting the lifeless corpse of the medium sized dog aside,

“This is a nasty business,” he said to himself.

The dogs, seeing him moving the body of their fallen compatriot, began to encircle him, trapping him against the tree; he kept the sword fully extended, not wanting to show any weakness, but not wanting to kill creatures like these, who had obviously been through terrible trials and tribulations. The leader of the pack made a peculiar sound, like a strange bark, with the sense of a sergeant commanding a legion of troops; the other dogs slowly retreated, never letting their reddened eyes lose sight of him. The pack leader approached him slowly, working from side to side like a hunter would to get close to game without frightening it; its blank, vision-less eye followed him in an eerie way, like that of the sight of a gun. It lunged without warning and he struck out quickly to protect himself, his swipe only grazed the beasts haunches but it squeaked and backed away, planning some other maneuver to gain the upper hand. It was a game of strategy, and nerve; the beast lunged left and right and others fanned around him to prevent his flight from the spot. He blindly slashed at air, hoping for contact with the beast; he made a mental note to practice his swordplay if he survived this. The dog was relentless, seemingly not bothered by the exertion which was now creeping through Nathan’s bones. It lunged again, and managed to scratch his ankle, knocking him to one knee. He could no longer feel his wounded arm. The dog lunged again, he sickeningly heard the crack of the bones in the already wounded arm, but felt nothing. Nathan knew if he didn't act then, that this would never end until he bled out from the wound in his shoulder; he feinted as if he was running to the left to escape before lunging the opposite direction, skewering the mighty canine upon his blade, a feeling of great sadness came with the sight of the dying dog. He had always liked dogs, and killing them hurt his heart greatly, listening the great shepherd gave a few final groans, then did something unexpected, it looked him in the face with its still functioning eye and gave him a look like that of a great warrior, who had finally met his match, and had no regrets at having found him. Nathan watched as the dog gave a short broken howl and the other dogs fled, obeying his command, its eye then glazed over, and the great beast died upon his sword; Nathan withdrew it and looked with a feeling of both gratitude and sorrow upon the corpse. He walked to his pack and removed the small white box with the cross on it and took out a length of bandage and some salve; he spread the salve across his wound, wincing at the stinging pain of the chemical in it, then drew the length of bandage about his arm, creating a wrapping, but not tightening it overly. He gave the same treatment to his ankle, which did not seem to be wounded as bad as he had feared. The wounded arm hung limply at his side though, he took his sword and hacked off a straight limb; he removed a length of cloth from his bag and fashioned a sling, it wasn’t fantastic, but it would have to do.

He looked again at the two bodies and made a quick decision. He took from his bag a shovel, which he had taken from his mother's store of gardening tools, fastened it to his good arm and slowly dug a pit, in it he laid the hound that had wounded him, and the body of the great leader. He then took a slab of bark from the tree and carved into it a simple blessing.

There, that should accentuate the breaks.